


The Cannon Fodder Crew

by Shitfacedanon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Humor, Gen, Military Science Fiction, fantroll adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shitfacedanon/pseuds/Shitfacedanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alternian Empire. A vast collective spanning billions of worlds and possessed of ever more souls. All united by the indomitable rule of its ageless Empress; Her imperious Condescension. </p>
<p>Though powerful this empire is, it is not without enemies. Beset by all sides both within and without exists numerious threats, from rival Alien empires, to seditious rebellions, to the squabbling petty conflicts of its highblood nobility. </p>
<p>Yet, the empire is not without its own defenders.</p>
<p>Chief among these defenders are the elites, the Subjuggulators, the threshecutioners, the laughassassins to name a few. Each of these warriors worth ten other men.</p>
<p>Joining them in service are the rigidly disciplined and ever unshakeable men and women of the Imperial Army and Navy, tasked with fighting their Empress’ enemies. Each soldier capable of more than going toe to toe with any adversary and any threat. </p>
<p>Yet this story is not about them, but of four soldiers of the ragged horde of the Vanguard response army and their struggle to survive against bloodthirsty rebels, a powerful psychic, and their own leaders glaring incompetence and disregard for their lives.</p>
<p>These are the tales of the Cannon Fodder Crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vikker glanced out the viewport. Slogging their way through the expanse of space, were the other ships of the 1917th Response fleet of the Alternian Empire.

Each ship was to varying extents in its own way unique in design, either a result of the myriad of cultures living in the empire adding their own tastes and aesthetics during its original construction, or doing so through either repairs or general maintenance.

Most ships tended to retain some amount of the original design that was deemed by the higher ups as the official model. Yet it wasn’t uncommon to see some occasional divergent forms, typically in areas where higher Imperial authority was either weak or too lazy to care.

There was a time, some sweeps ago, when Vikker could have picked out the probable origin of the varying features of each ship as well as the purpose for such add-ons. Before he could spend hours passing the time, easily able to pinpoint even at great distances the different aspects of each ship of the fleet and its likely purpose. He had even been able to impress a few comrades with his keen eyes.

Yet now such things barely interested him. Sure, he had only seen the barest fraction of the numerous cultures the Alternian Empires could boast, and whatever little mark they could leave on whatever ship or craft they made. But by now the novelty of the thing had become dull. Yes there were probably thousands of different designs he had yet seen and probably never would. By now, he had seen so much that even the more wildly distinct ships mostly blurred with the more mundane.

He looked back to his grub-tablet; the small palm sized personal computer. It severed numerous purposes, ranging from the practical such as assisting troops in reading and receiving battle plans. To the personal, such as housing software or files meant for amusement.

In this particular case, the fleet bureaucrats had deemed it fit to upload a small file to each soldier detailing various snippets of info on their upcoming destination- _slash-_ target. 

Laqueum was the planets name, though what it meant Vikker neither knew nor cared. It was apparently some moderately temperate planet, covered in most plains and forestry, and possessed of neither any significant tactical or strategic value it seemed.  Some thousand sweeps ago, it had been inhabited by some alien race who’s identity, as well as any trace of, had long since been forgotten. First their race had been exterminated by the Imperial military, then the slow passage of time and the colonist’s hands had done the same to whatever ruins remained.

Vikker skimmed over the rest of the data. Most of it was other useless miscellaneous factoids, such as city names and their location, general history of the planet, and other various statistics; of which he found to be ever more boring.

“Population. Ninety five million. Yadda yadda. Who givesafuck?” He muttered under his breath.

Vikker continued to rush through the data-pamphlet, skipping whatever he found irrelevant or not to his interest. Finally, after skimming through several paragraphs, he at last found something that caught his eye.

“Primary purpose of planet.. Oh hey! Resource extraction. So a mining world huh?” He said aloud.

“Mostly metals.. Some fossil fuels… Chemical agents and dyes?” He muttered to himself.

“Planet in revolt… Local garrison overwhelmed. Planetary Governor requests aid. Pftt, mental in\/alid. Can’t do jack fecal matter.” He said.

Then, as if to interrupt his thoughts, the intercom blared.

“ALL PERSONNEL TO ENGAGE IN PLANETARY COMBAT ARE TO REPORT TO DECK HALL FOR BRIEFING IN THREE HOURS TIME. THAT IS ALL.”

Vikker got to his feet and placed his grub-tablet in his pant pocket. Then before heading out to see what the commotion was, checked to make sure he had his identity papers.

“E\/erything seems in order. Time to see what the higher ups are getting on about. Annoying assholes.” He said to himself.

“AND TO THE PERSONAL WHO STOLE CAPTAIN’S HIGSEN’S LUNCH, WE HAVE YOU ON CAMERA. REPORT TO THE BRIDGE FOR SUMMERY EXECUTION IMMEDIATELY YOU THEIVING BASTARD.” The intercom yelled.

***

Vikker walked briskly to the deck hall. There was still time to spare before the upcoming briefing, yet he decided to arrive early. One of the strongest lessons life had imparted upon him was the importance of being prepared, even in minor things. Arriving early meant he could find a good spot before things became crowded or be at the ready in case something unexpected happened.

Some of his fellow soldiers would occasionally poke fun at him being paranoid or a compact rectal load expeller, yet he ignored them. Experience had taught him that in such an occupation as his; one could never be too careful or paranoid. And that most of those who made such jokes were annoying douche nozzles who were now dead so fuck them and their shitty advice.

As he arrived he quickly glanced at his surroundings. The deck hall was massive, easily capable of housing roughly several hundred to even a thousand personal at once. At the front was a large screen and raised platform used to give orders, distill propaganda, and inform crew members of any duties.  In larger ships, he had heard that multiple divisions could be at the ready, though he had never been given such a chance to personally see so.

During his first trip off his homeworld, he had been mesmerized by the sheer scale of the room, as well as the volume of people it could hold. Now, as with most other things in space travel, the novelty had worn off and it became just another facet of the scenery.

He looked around for a space to hold up and wait. Though the entire battalion had yet to arrive, the room was still rather filled. Much to Vikker’s annoyance, several particularly choice spots had been already taken beforehand.

As he searched for a spot, several trolls passed him by, some running to join comrades, others to some objective unknown. Some were dressed in tunics of the dull dark grey soldiers wore, some in the faded mustard yellow jumpsuits of engineers and mechanics.

Some groupings were only half formed, consisting of trolls conversing together while they waited for their fellows to join. Others were organized in a crisp neatly manner; their commanding officer marching along its perimeter, looking for any error in formation. 

There was no real order to where anyone was supposed to be. Most trolls would just instinctively “know” where they were supposed to group together as well as who they were supposed to be with. As even the most chaotic formations always tended to naturally sort themselves out, command never really bothered to worry about it.

Eventually Vikker found his spot. It was no different from any other part of the hall, yet he felt as if it was just right. Sure enough, despite having not noticed them only seconds before, Vikker immediately then saw a few associates from his platoon standing several feet away. They took notice and waved in acknowledgment and he returned the gesture. Only a dozen had arrived by his count, but he knew more would soon join, and as he waited he pulled out his grub-tablet and skimmed through various personal entertainment files to pass the time.

When most of his platoon had finally made their way, he put away the tablet and stood at attention. Looking then to the large screen the higher ups used to relay battle plans and other pertinent information. Vikker caught sight of his platoon commander, olive blood Cyclam “bootlick” Kulick, rushing to the front of their unit, huffing and puffing and quickly adjusting his uniform when he did. Kulick quickly glanced back at the platoon, searching only for any glaring flaws in its formation and then focusing his attention to the screen when he found none.

Vikker quickly scanned the hall. Everyone that was to fight was here, from the lowly glorified cannon fodder of the Vanguard army such as himself, to the more dignified men and women of the Main army. He then returned his attention to the screen.

Various bio-mechanics and other technicians were making their final preparations and adjustments to the view screen. Rushing from one side of the platform to the other, whispering in inaudible tones to one another various details and other information. As they did, a trio of officers followed by two pairs of fearsome looking body guards approached the screen, then stepped on to the platform and made their way to its right side.

Two of the officers began to sit, and as they did a pair of seats formed from the floor of the platform, taking shape just as they fell into place. The third stood at attention and quickly surveyed the room and its occupants. Then, turning his head to one of the techies, nodded in approval.

A small podium began to rise in front of him, stopping right at his chest. A small microphone then began to raise itself, coming to a stop nearly at the height of the man’s mouth. The officer cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Soldiers of Her Imperious Condescension’s most 4midable army, and ragtag conscripts of the Vanguards, as well as any other troopers I don’t give enough of a shit to mention, it’s time we being our mission. Now some of you no doubt have probably 4ailed to read the data-pamphlets the pencil-pushers sent out, so I’ll give you a brie4 summary of events and such.”

The officer looked down to the podium and began to fiddle with various controls. Suddenly the view screen came to life, depicting an image of Laqueum floating in space.

“This is Laqueum. It’s a mostly pointless planet good for only extracting resources. Most of the population is made up of low blooded yokels and dumbasses. Like most you in 4act!” He said, affecting a sense of mock enthusiasm to his last words. A few of the more high ranking members of the audience chuckled in response, most remained silent.  

“Well I thought it was 4unny… Anyway, said population has currently kickstarted a rebellion, and while normally we’d leave the local garrison to deal with this, it seems that the current governor is too incompetent to do so  -as always- and has let the situation get out of hand. He’s asked 4 o44icial assistance in putting it down and so that’s where you all come in.” He said.

The screen flicked briefly, a new image now present. It was a map of Laqueum, similar to the one Vikker had seen earlier in his grub-Tablet, only more detailed and marked with various battle plans.

“Now here’s the plan.” He said, pressing a button on the podium and causing the map to change. Displayed above each city and several other prominent areas of indeterminate purpose were several crosshairs.

“We’ll start with a typical planetary bombardment of the most populous cities and any other important centers to so4ten up the strongest points of resistance. Next we’ll make land4all outside the planetary capital as well as any other critical areas and secure the area and establish a base of operations.” He stated matter of factly, the map shifting once more to display where each division would land. Sure enough Vikker’s would be right outside the capital; right in midst of the heaviest fighting. Vikker groaned quietly to himself.

The Commander continued to speak, the map changing with each step of his battle plan.

“The Vanguard divisions will launch a 4ull assault to so4ten up more entrenched enemy defenses as well as distract them from the main army seizing control of various objectives. Main army will either capture or kill rebel leadership i4 possible and decapitate the head of this rebellion. 4rom there we’ll then take control of all major cities one by one, exterminate any seditious elements and agitators, then move on to the countryside and deal with whatever’s le4t. Then reinstall the local governor and once we can be certain the local militias don’t need to have their hands held anymore, we can move out.” The commander droned on, talking as if he had heard said plans repeated more times then he would have liked.

“Now we have very little in4orma-.” As he spoke, the Commander’s words were interrupted by the view screen flickering in and out of life, small bits of static momentarily buzzing into view. A muddled choppy voice could be heard screaming orders to unknown persons. Finally the screen cleared, and presented before the entire hall’s audience was none other than the Empress herself

Her face was twisted into a scowl and her lips curled, small beads of foam and spittle spewing forth as she screamed.

“listen up beaches!!! normally i wouldnt give the slightest little shit about what any of you would be doin but ive been informed that this otherwise worthless shithole of a rock is the ONLY planet that makes the exact dye for my most favorite shade of pink. ya get it? the ONLY glubbin place. and i am NOT gonna accept any cheap-ass substitutes, understand? but more than that, I want that whole fuckin shithole cratered. i want that planet RUINED, ya hear me? i want every stupid little bitch down there who DARES and DARED to personally piss me off like this to be gutted shot and then hanged!!” She snarled.

Her eyes brightened up, and her body trembled in barely contained fury. The Empress’ eye twitched and a wide malicious looking smile came upon her face and her voice lowered to a whisper.

 “Oh, O)(, OOO)()()( but this fuckin idiot, this dumbass whos leading this… oh I want you to kill him niiiiiice and slowly. I want you all to fuckin torture his ass to death till he cant even think. oh i want this. this. this BASTARD to feel himself dying, understand me!? no one denies her imperious fuckin condescension her favorite brand of makeup and doesnt die horribly for it. So listen up nice and good, all of you. you get down there. you kill everyone flying his colors. and you remind everyone exactly why you never -EVER wanna fuck with me!” She snapped.

The Empress was nearly panting now. Deeply she breathed in, calming herself and regaining her royal composure. She spoke once more, this time with a serene tone in her words.

“oh and.. whoever brings me the head of this ringleader gets somefin nice. peace out bitches.”

The screen flickered for only a brief moment before the map was restored, yet for a split second Vikker couldn’t help but feel as if a different face then that of the Empress had flashed just before communication was ended. Part of him thought perhaps it was merely a trick of the screen, the result of a second’s worth of distortion as the visual feed cut off or merely his eyes playing tricks.

He quickly glanced around to see if anyone else noticed, when he found no one, he then returned his attention back to the commander; whatever it was probably wasn’t important anyway.

“Damnit. Why does everyone always interrupt me?” The Commander muttered, his whispered voice still audible to the entire deck hall, not that he seemed to care.

The Commander cleared his throat.

“Well as I was saying, we don’t know much about the person leading this save for their name. They’re calling themselves “the liberator”. Dumb ass name if you ask me.” He said, mocking the title with his fingers.

“All we know is that he’s a rust blood, or a brown blood. Possibly a mustard blood. He’s anywhere 4rom 4ive to seven 4eet tall and his horns are described as being long, curved, and pointed at the tips... Okay who wrote this crap? This is seriously the shittiest, most vague description of ANYTHING I’ve ever read.” He yelled incredulously. 

One of the officers sitting raised his hand meekly.

“S1r, 1 dOn’t th1nk 1t’s that bad. 1 mean 1n my defense 1 dOn’t have much to gO On.” He said.

“Jhones, this is crap. Pure crap. I4 this was written on paper I wouldn’t wipe my ass with it. Hell I wish it was just so I could crumble it and like, 4ucking toss it. Behind me pre4erably.” The Commander retorted.

The third officer cleared his throat, hoping to grab the attention of the other two.

“Sir, the briefing please? We have business to attend to.” He said.

“Right right, very well. Okay, well anyway we have a picture of him so whatever.  It’s supposedly during a speech he made roughly a week ago by o44icial estimates.” He said, bringing up said picture on the screen.

It was a large throng of rabble gathered around what looked to be a city square. In the backdrop was some nondescript government building in disrepair and slightly ruined. Nestled in front of it was a large marble statue of the Empress placed in the center of a large public fountain and defaced with various crude insults.

Most of those present were dressed in typical civilian clothing, only with the occasional ammo belt or carrying bag adorning them. The only common feature they possessed was a ragged lime green piece of clothe tied either to their arm or draped around their head like a bandana. 

Standing at the head of the crowd at the entrance of the building was a smaller group of trolls that looked to be the leaders of the rebellion. Standing next to them was an assortment of ad-hoc bodyguards. Most of the leadership looked no different from the rabble that was in attendance save for various lime green sashes wrapped around either their waists or shoulders that seemed to give them a air of authority.

Only two stood out. Standing behind the supposed “Liberator” was a woman with large curved horns entirely obscured by a black cloak, hood, and featureless white mask covering her entire face. At the forefront was the liberator himself, his arms outstretched as if trying to rile up his audience. He was dressed in a faded loose fitting lime green great coat and cowl. Jutting out from the top of his forehead were a pair of short horns that curled back towards his hair. Covering the lower half of his face was a faded green bandana.

The commander spoke up, “As you can see there’s not much to go on appearance wise. Intel says that this “liberator” dresses like this whenever he’s out in public but disguises himsel4 otherwise. What’s more there’s been reports of body doubles so even i4 we were to try to assassinate him; we might not even get the dumbass. We also have a recording of a speech he gave around the time that picture was taken.”

A audio recording began, the voice was grainy and occasionally hitched in pitch but was otherwise understandable.

“beaten Citizens of Laqueum!” The liberator shouted.

“All0w me a questi0n if y0u will! H0w l0ng have we endured this Crushing 0ppression 0f the tyrant bl00ded Empress!? H0w l0ng have we been f0rced t0 suffer under the y0ke 0f these high bl00d parasites!? They drive us t0 w0rk t0 the marr0w, leave us exhausted and hungry, and when we ask f0r s0 much as Crumbs and sCraps in return they st0mp on us in response. And yet we simply aCCept this. Why? BeCause 0f threats 0f death and further retributi0n f0r the Crime 0f daring t0 ask f0r simply having en0ugh?”

“0h pleeeease master, may I be able t0 eat this day? 0h master, will y0u permit me t0 n0t g0 hungry this week?” He said exaggeratedly.

“Well I say, EN0UGH! I’ve had it with the bitCh empress and her bastard cl0wns and aquatic lampreys l0rding 0ver us l0w bl00ds. And I kn0w, many 0f y0u warn 0f her pet m0nster; 0f its abilities t0 wreak death up0n us with but a gr0wl.”

The Liberator chuckled. “Well my C0mrades… We have a weap0n 0f 0ur 0wn. 0ne wh0 p0ssess talents and abilities that will even the 0dds in 0ur fav0r and pr0tect us as well. 0h yes! Why in fact s0me 0f y0u already kn0w 0f them already. This pers0n is n0ne 0ther than 0ur 0wn Lady of H0pe!”

Hushed gasps could be heard followed by various murmurings. The Liberator spoke once more.

“0h yes! The Lady is als0 t0 be 0ur pr0teCt0r, 0ur guardian! F0r n0t 0nly is she a healer and a pr0phet, but she is als0 0ur weap0n 0f righte0us fury and retributi0n! A Psychic 0f such p0wer that even the mightiest ships and s0ldiers of the empire will be as little m0re than brittle chaff bef0re her!” He yelled.

“ _Yeah right. E\/en with that psychic you’re still screwed buddy. No one can beat the empire, just can’t be done.”_ Vikker thought to himself.

 “Already she has pr0vided us all with s0 much, and yet still she seeks t0 give m0re! The Lady has revealed t0 me her m0re fears0me p0wers, and I can m0st certainly assure y0u that she will pr0tect us. M0re than that, she will bring us vict0ry!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and then quickly subsided as the Liberator spoke up again. 

“Already the Lady has helped us 0verwhelm the l0cal militias. And even n0w she uses her p0wers t0 begin preparati0ns f0r the upc0ming resp0nse we are certain t0 face. But fear n0t my c0mrades! My lieutenants and I have already f0rmulated a plan, and with the Lady at 0ur side, we will destr0y these laCkeys 0f the Tyrant bl00ded Empress. We will emerge viCt0rious! We WILL 0verthr0w the Empress! And we will establish a better s0ciety; a superior s0ciety! 0ne where all l0w bl00ded tr0lls can all live in peace and pr0sperity!! Death t0 the FuChsia Tyrant! Death t0 all highbl00ds!! L0ng live the Lady and the Rev0luti0n!!!”

The crowd exploded in joy, their cheers now near deafening with the celebrations of the victory they had claimed and the certain belief of victories they were to claim. The Liberator did not quiet them this time. The next few minutes consisted of the crowd chanting the Liberator’s title over and over again before the audio was cut off.

The commander spoke up.

“Damn, that speech kinda sucked. Jhones I apologize. THAT was the shittiest thing I’ve experienced. Anyway if this guy’s leadership skills are as good as his writing then we’ll have this planet cleaned up in no time! Well I think that’s everything, you have your orders. We begin operations in five hours. Everyone head to your stations and prepare for launch. Dismissed! Oh! And try not to die i4 you can.”

The gathering of platoons began to disperse, each heading off to begin preparations. As Vikker returned to his quarters to gather his equipment he thought of the battle ahead and the briefing.

“ _So a psychic huh? Great. Exactly what I wanted to deal with. If she’s even half as good as this mental invalid is advertising then shit’s gonna get real bad down there. And go figure my platoon is right in the heaviest fighting so odds are I’ll be seeing her probably once. Damnit why do I always end up with such abysmal odds? Fuck.”_

Vikker sighed in resignation. _“Oh well. It is what it is.”_ He mused to himself.As he exited the deck hall, his thoughts turned to the face he had seen. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it, yet try as he might he could not remember anything of it. It had been simply too fast. Growing exasperated, he finally gave up and focused his thoughts on other matters. Perhaps it really was all in his head, though he could have sworn he had seen a floral pattern…

***

For the next several hours, the ships of the fleet positioned themselves in orbit above Laqueum, each bio-mechanic vessel hovering above its intended target like a dagger poised to strike. Each ship was equipped with an abundant multitude of weapons, ranging from plasma and laser batteries, to long range missile salvos, to fearsome mass drivers; each weapon designed to strike at targets at vast unfathomable distances. Most ships in combat engaged at one another at thousands of kilometers apart.

Yet the ships of the response fleet were in and of themselves still a paltry display of the Empire’s full might. Most of the ships were intended to serve as either transports, ferrying their crew or cargo to the countless ever expanding warzones of the empire. Or support for the more fearsome battleships and cruisers of the Empress’ navy, providing support fire or escort in times of battle. 

In any fight against another ship of their make, their weapons would have barely done more then scorch the surface of their chitinous hulls and only after breaking the electro shield bubble that guarded them. Only through sustained and concentrated fire could they pierce the outer shell and wound their foe.

Yet against the unprotected cities of Laqueum, the vast arsenal of the 1917th Response fleet might have seemed like the angry wraith of a malevolent god unleashing its infinite fury upon the world.

The ships readied their weapons, cannons charging their barrels, salvos being filled with their lethal payloads. The Commander of the fleet stood at the bridge of her vessel, patiently waiting for her mark. She would not strike until all ships were ready, better to show the traitors the full price for their folly by displaying the full might of Her Imperious Condescension’s Armada. She would put the fear of the Empress in them, by Death’s handmaid; she would put them in their place.

An assistant called out to her.

“All ships are green, awaiting orders Ma’am.”

 

“All ships fir3 at will. Mak3 th3m pay…” She said grimly.

***

Nestled in the personal office of the Planetary Governor sat a particular maroon blood, dressed in a dull green long coat. He went by a solitary name, The Liberator. He had been hatched with another some sweeps ago, but upon taking up his new role, cast off the old one. He was a new person now, and his title would be but one of many new things about him. He hunched over the damaged mahogany desk, reviewing various battle plans, troop positions, and other relevant data.

Only a few weeks ago the office that now served as his headquarters had been immaculately clean and organized. Before, not even a speck of dust nor dirt had marred any surface. Before each walkway, each tile of the floor had been painstakingly shined till they glistened under the light. Each room had been decked out with the most luxurious of furniture and equipped with the most expensive of utilities and equipment. Why before, a governor of a more industrious world would have been envious of the display of such wealth and privilege.

That the average lowblood citizen lived in filthy squalor that stood in stark contrast to the wealth of the high bloods that worked in such opulence never seemed to bother the governor.

But now. Now the office lay bare of its old furnishings. Most having been striped during the looting and chaos when the Governor abandoned the capital. Now the office looked run down and dilapidated; so very much like the poorer districts it once lorded over.

When his soldiers had overrun the local garrison, he had made no orders to cease the looting. To him, such acts were righteous retribution for the suffering his blood caste had endured. Let the high and mid bloods experience what it was like to be beaten, to fear, and to have all that was theirs taken. Let them know what it was like to feel powerless.

Once he felt they had been humbled enough, he had given out an order to cull the city of its “dark hued infestation.” All high bloods were rounded up and publicly executed, all middle bloods forced into indentured servitude and all low blood sympathizers made an example of.

After that, he ordered an end to the looting. Even if he hated the government, he still recognized the need for working infrastructure, and the city’s had suffered enough as it was. The next few days after were spent organizing each city. Slowly, night by night, his army worked to restore some semblance of order.

While his forces had been able to mostly able to secure victory, the mysterious powers of the Lady; his confidant and what more bold minds might even say his matesprite, had done most of the work. Without her his rebellion would had been crushed before they even began.

By now the forces of previous Governor had been reduced to little more than a paltry remnant, holding out hope of rescue in their fortress. While the Liberator had intended to capture the man if possible, for now he stayed his hand; he had plans for his hated predecessor, and for now they required him staying alive and seemingly safe.

The Liberator leaned to the side of his chair, picking from the floor another map. This one detailing areas of the city in need of repair. As he read the map of details, his train of thought was interrupted.

He lifted his head and turned to the slim women flanking him. Though she spoke to him, no words left her mouth. For any she would make instead would be heard in his mind. Had anyone else been in the room, it would have seemed as if he was talking to himself.

The Lady alerted him to the threat hovering above his world.

 “Hmm… Right 0n sChedule. Just as y0u predicted.” He responded.

She raised a lone eyebrow and a look that said she had been slighted appeared on her face, as if he had doubted her predictions.

“N0, I trust y0u. That’s why I made sure everything was ready earlier, remember?” He said.

The lady nodded her head in acknowledgement, her face returning to its typically apathetic visage.She continued then their one sided conversation.

“Yes. All thanks t0 y0u. I d0n’t think we c0uld have managed it 0therwise in s0 little time had y0u n0t helped.”

A barely noticeable smile creeped upon her face, only to disappear shortly afterwards.

“H0w muCh damage are we talking about, exactly?” He asked.

 “0kay then. We can aCCept that.” The Liberator said, nodding in approval.

“Um.. If y0u d0n’t mind me asking, exactly h0w will y0u be dealing with all that firep0wer? I mean, I’m n0t questi0ning y0ur p0wers 0r anything. But I can’t help but be Curi0us.” He asked.

 “Hmm. Very well then. Anything else I sh0uld kn0w?” He inquired.

 “G00d luck then My Lady.” The Liberator said. The second he finished, she had left. Dissipating into thin air to only where she knew. With his office now empty, The Liberator took out from a desk drawer a small bottle of soporific. A small luxury he had decided to afford himself. He took a quick gulp, then returned it to its place and reached for the communications microphone. Switching the device on, he then tuned it to the proper frequency and after waiting for the other side to finally respond, gave his order.

“They’ve arrived. Get every0ne in place, the Rev0luti0n begins n0w.” He spoke solemnly. The liberator then disconnected and sighed, then leaned back, contemplating all the actions that had led to this moment, as well as what possible future might await him and his followers.

The Liberator then departed from his seat; slowly he marched to a nearby window, still miraculously unbroken despite all the damage that had occured. Once he had opened it, he craned his head outwards, and looked to the sky.

“Well. All in your hands n0w, Lady...”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was silent. Deafeningly, all encompassing silent. In the black vacuum she existed in in that moment, nothing, not the fabric of her cloak swaying, not the distant ships charging their weapons, not even the pounding of her heart, could be heard.

She loved it, how this serene experience gave her a merciful isolation she so often agonizingly craved. It was rare she had a moment to herself, and in those few minutes of peace, she took in every second they offered. Eking out every last second she could before she was to continue her duties.

For a moment she closed her eyes and let herself drift above Laqueum, granting herself some solitude. For those brief seconds, those much valued seconds, it was merely her and her alone. No sound, no feeling, no voices or distractions. Just her mind floating in what could seem to be a universe of it’s own, all to herself. It was like death, like sleep without dreaming. Whatever it was, it was as pure a feeling of bliss and peace as she could expect to experience, and it was time to end it. She opened her eyes.

The lady of Hope, as she was at times called, looked to the world below her. Along the shining edge of the globe, beams of sunlight glistened, while along the portion enveloped in night, sparkling lights dotted its surface like so many little stars. Millions of people called the world home, yet at such a distance no one could tell.

Hovering above the world were the ships of 1917th Response Fleet, ready to raze the planet below. Most had fully charged or prepped their respective arsenals, though some had yet to fully arm themselves.

It would be but a few moments until they began their attack, yet even that trace amount was more than enough for her.

Mentally she prepared herself, going over the details of her upcoming task, as well as determining the exact position of each ship, using her powers to both teleport to them and remain unseen. The Lady knew she had to be completely accurate if this was to work, not even the slightest mistake could be made.

Her heart raced, not from exertion, but from anticipation. A part of her always relished the thrill of the chaos she sowed and the destruction she caused, even if she mostly hated her duties, and the task she had committed herself to would cause ample confusion for the lackeys of the bitch Empress.

Soon she finished her census of the fleet, pinpointing their exact co-ordinates as well as preparedness. It would be soon now, only a handful of ships left till she began her work.

The lady grumbled to herself, part of her wished then and there to cut loose, to unleash her full might and break the ships apart, butcher their crews and destroy them now. But she stayed her hands; the first stage of the Liberator’s plan demanded the element of surprise and to break the fleet now would ruin it.

Silently she sighed, calming herself so as to better gather her strength and focus her mind. Soon only three ships remained, then two, and finally one. The lady smiled, bearing all her teeth. Tightly she balled her fists, only half hazardly attempting to still them. It was nearly time, only a few minutes more, then she could begin her little game.

Finally, at long achingly last, the fleet was ready. The Lady inhaled sharply, her body now coursing with raw power, her radiant frame trembling in excitement. She could mentally hear the Fleet commander’s words echo in her mind. The order was given, and the telecom sent them out, and with that command, the Lady of hope began her own objective.

The Lady lazily lifted a lone arm, arcs of intense power beginning to wrap around it. Time began to still itself, the atoms of all things around her slowing to a crawl and then seemingly to a stop.

Small bolts of lightning flared outwards from her arm, each growing more and more intense with time. Soon her other arm joined its twin, it too beginning to pulse and cackle with raw ethereal energy. Her posture became hunched and slowly she pulled her elbows backs. Soon her entire body was enveloped by flashing lighting.

Mere seconds passed for her, yet with each, the energy now wrapped around her limbs grew to tremendous heights. The power coursing through her was like that of a sun, burning itself out into even greater limits with seemingly no end.

Back in real time, the ships began their assault, firing giant lobs of super heated plasma nearly hot as the surface of suns mixed with high impact mag lev rods capable of causing city sized impact craters. Colossal laser batteries fired their ammo, sending scorching concentrated beams of light towards the surface below. Missile silos fired their payloads, each armed with thermonuclear warheads capable of turning entire cities to ash.

In a single second, hundreds of laser beams, missiles, magnetic rods, and globs of plasma had been expended. Within another that number would double and so on exponentially till the fleet had either expended its ammunition, ran out of power, or the surface of Laqueum lay in ruins.

 Back in the stalled time of the Lady, each round slowly slogged its way to the surface of Laqueum; even the light batteries stabbing their way to the surface merely inching forward.

The Lady tensed her arms, and then gathering whatever last remaining power she felt was needed, thrust them back out, sending massive arcs of flashing colorful energy speeding past each volley and to Laqueum.

The beam raced past the fleet’s ammunition, striking the atmosphere of the world below. Slowly it began to envelope Laqueum, spreading its influence over the planet like a lichen fungi coating a surface.

As it did, the Lady’s perception of outside events began to speed back up, the globs of plasma, mag rods, and other types of ammunition gradually increasing their speed.  Little by little they inched their way forward.

Finally The Lady was snapped back in tune with time, the Fleet’s ammunition blasting forward at incredible speeds. Just as the first shell was about to strike the atmosphere, the preternatural shield finally closed over the world, fully incasing it within.

The Lady kept her arms forward, pumping more of her ad-hoc shield with power. As each glob, rod, beam, or missile made contact it disintegrated instantly, exploding in a cascade of aged particles and atoms.

Thousands more continued to rain down, causing the glow of the shield to faintly flash as the torrents of varied ammunition struck it.

The Lady continued to power the shield, small beads of sweat curiously beginning to form on her brow. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. Was this really exerting her enough to break a sweat? She was not unused to pushing herself to such a degree; in fact she had pushed herself to greater limits before.  A small part of her worried if she was perhaps growing weak.

She pushed such thoughts from her mind, if her skills were growing dull then this rebellion would help sharpen then once again. The lady shook her head and refocused herself; she had more important things to worry about.

Jerking her head from side to side, the Lady cracked her neck and smiled. Thousands of ships, tens of thousands of weapons all firing in unison and still no real effect. Silently she giggled in amusement, watching as more of the fleets ammunition dissipated harmlessly off her defense.  She wished she could have personally seen the look on the officer in charge.

The Fleet continued their bombardment.

**_Meanwhile aboard the Bridge of the Spearhead; Flagship of the 1917th Response fleet._ **

“What th3 shit is going on? No one told us th3y had shi3lds!” The Fleet Commander yelled. “How is this 3v3n possibl3!? A world that spars3ly populat3d shouldn’t 3v3n poss3ss thos3 kind of d3f3ns3s!”

“We don’t know ma’am!” An operator responded. “Reports made no mention of planetary defenses beyond orbital batteries and the Governor sabotaged those before the capital was lost.”

The fleet commander groaned exasperatedly, her face twisting in anger and her teeth grinding against themselves. This was operation was meant to be simple and easy; blast the world below, kill any rebel survivors, then restore order. That even the first and seemingly easiest step was already going to pot irked her considerably.

She furrowed her brow and clenched her fists. Her nails breaking the skin of her palm, causing small beads of teal to drip down her left hand. The Fleet Commander looked to her hand and wiped the blood clean on her trousers. Panting quietly, the fleet commander calmed herself and issued more orders.

“W3 can’t l3t th3s3 r3b3l scum disgrac3 us! All ships incr3as3 fir3 rat3 if possibl3, put mor3 pr3ssur3 on th3 w33dy littl3 bastards!” She yelled, thrusting her arm to the center viewport displaying the planet and stabbing at it with her hand.

**_Back Above Laqueum_ **

The Lady’s heart raced and her body was tense, her lungs burned slightly as otherworldly power rushed through her. Even if she was somewhat tired, she still relished this feeling. The rush of adrenaline she got over commanding such power. Even if she did hate most of the rest of her job, the occasional high her more brutal moments gave her were small mercies.

She looked around herself. The Fleet fired ever more of its ammunition, this time expelling it at greater amounts and faster speeds. The edges of plasma barrels glowed white and became distended slightly as their ammunition belched outward. A massive shower of lasers and plasma stabbed the surface of the shield yet none had any impact.

 The Lady gave out a silent “hmph”, feeling amused at their futile efforts. They could fire for the rest of eternity and they’d still make no progress. Not that she would have wished them to take that long.

By now the fleet had expended over three quarters its entire reservoirs of ammunition and power. The Lady mentally counted how much time would remain till they used up whatever was left.

Fifteen minutes. A small sliver of time, yet once more, more than enough. At last it was time to begin the next phase of the plan.

Little by little she weakened her defense, allowing only the sparsely populated and unimportant areas to become vulnerable. In the space of only a second thousands of beams of light breach the holes, flying through them as if they were wet paper.

Below, huge firestorms exploded into being, setting entire areas miles in size ablaze and reducing entire towns to ash.

 The Lady then weakened the shield protecting whatever areas of the world still held by Imperial loyalists. She doubted the fleet would have changed their aim even if they had known, but it amused her to turn the Empress’ own servants against one another; besides, it was not as if they would have received a better fate against the Liberator or herself or even their Empress anyway.

Five minutes remained, this time however the fleet began to slacken; laser beams firing off only at half the rate they had while the globs of plasma had shrunken in size and intensity, mag rods now also ceasing entirely as well.

As their offense had weakened, so did the lady’s defense. In unison with the fleet’s pace, she lowered the power of the shields; each shot still harmlessly disintegrating.

Finally the attack ended, the seconds between each shot growing longer till they ceased altogether. With that the Lady killed powered to the shield, it flashing briefly before dissipating into nothing.

The lady smiled, proud of the display of power she had given off, even if no one knew it had been her.  
Her mood was abruptly ended when suddenly intense pangs of pain pulsed from her mind.

She brought her hands to her head, mentally begging for her aches to stop. As if acquiescing to her pleading, the pangs slowly ceased and the lady shook her head.  Physically weary and upset that her mood had been ruined, the Lady slowly floated towards the world before teleporting back to the surface. It was time to begin phase two.

**_Back aboard the Bridge of the Spearhead._ **

Fleet Commander Willow Retrop screamed in frustration, tugging on her hair and flailing her arms about wildly.

“HOW! How in th3 h3ll did th3y pull this off!?” She screamed. “Th3r3 was no int3l-NON3- that said any damn thing about shi3lds! And th3s3 littl3 scum suck3rs shouldn’t 3v3n hav3 th3 r3sourc3s l3t alon3 th3 m3ans to mak3 on3. H3ll th3y shouldn’t 3v3n hav3 had th3 tim3 3ith3r! What th3 fuck happ3n3d!?!?”

A sitting yellow blooded assistant previously going over data turned to her, streams of data flashing across the lenses of the membranous psy-com device strapped to his head.

“Uh Ma’am.” He said meekly.

“What!? Answ3r m3 damnit.” Retrop responded, marching her way towards him, her face flush with anger.

“None of our intel said anything about shields-“

“Y3s I know that alr3ady, so how did th3y catch us flat foot3d?” She interrupted.

“Well Ma’am, while we were firing upon it we took some readings and we found something… Well, odd. You see, when a normal planetary shield is powered up, it typically gives off energy as a result of kinetic impacts when struck or to restore power after being hit. Keep the shield up and such. And we found some incredibly odd discrepancies with that one.” He said, pointing to his screen.

Fleet Commander Retrop leaned over towards the screen. It was a random mishmash of technical and bio-mechanical data, logs, and readouts she only barely understood at best.

“Mak3 s3ns3 of this, Mustard blood. What am I suppos3 to look for?” She said, motioning her hand to the screen.

“Here.” The assistant responded, pointing to a pair of charts and graphs listing power readings and levels.

“See this? This is the estimated level of energy that that shield gave out at the height of the attack. And this-“ He said, bringing up another chart.

“This is the power level of a typical grade one planetary shield and the typical expenditure of energy when it deflects things. When our ordnance hit, that shield gave out nothing. Everything just disappeared.”

“So it wasn’t mad3 by any normal pow3r sourc3 th3n.” Retrop said, rubbing her chin contemplatively.

“Yes.” The assistant returned.

“A Psychic!” She exclaimed.

“Yes, that’s what we believe to be the case as well.” The assistant said to her.

“Did w3 g3t any r3adings on it? Lik3 a location or any lif3 signs? Do w3 know if it’s still aliv3?” She asked.

The assistant shook his head. “No I’m afraid not Ma’am. We were unable to pinpoint anything. However there is some good news.”

Retrop perked up at this. “Oh? And what?”

“Some of our weaponry was able to penetrate the shield near the end of our assault, our readings report that we destroyed several weapon and miscellaneous manufacturing centers and other critical areas. Losing these will be a major setback for the rebels.” The assistant said.

“Good!” Retrop said. “Not as good as I’d hop3, but its som3thing. Still though, I’m worri3d about that psychic. If th3y can do this th3n no t3lling what 3ls3 th3ir capabiliti3s ar3. Wh3r3 did th3y 3v3n g3t on3?”

Retrop placed her bloody hand on the mustard blooded technician, wiping clean her blood caked palm on his shoulder as she thought of the mission reports she had read.

“Shit! That Lady of.. Of…”

“Hope?” The assistant said.

“Y3s! Shit, I thought that didl3r r3b3l l3ad3r was bluffing about that bitch. All that tall talk about d3stroying fl33ts s33m3d mostly hot air.” She said.

“Ma’am.” The assistant spoke up. “We’re still alive, and even if he wasn’t spouting lies, that must mean her powers have a limit. Even the greatest psychics couldn’t take on whole fleets.”

“Tru3. Sh3 must hav3 3xp3nd3d h3r pow3rs aft3r all that. Still though…” Retrop turned away and returned to her command console, leaning on it. She mused over the next course of action.

_“This is a hug3 risk. Limits or not, that shi3ld took a hug3 amount of pow3r to rais3. Landing a invasion is gonna b3 troubl3som3 with h3r around. Our forc3s might not b3 3nough. W3 might 3v3n n33d to call in th3 main army… NO! Damnit I’m a fl33t command3r for th3 3mpr3ss’ sak3. Vanguard or not, that’s not nothing. I won’t l3t my r3cord b3 black3n3d by on3 stupid littl3 r3b3llion or psychic. This is my chanc3, h3ll this is all of our chanc3. W3 can finally prov3 to H3r Maj3sty that a Vanguard fl33t is a forc3 to b3 r3ckon3d with. Mayb3 3v3n prov3 w3 d3s3rv3 to b3 mad3 into a main fl33t… W3 hav3 to do this. **I** hav3 to do this.”_

Clearing her throat Fleet Commander Retrop turned back to the assistant.

“W3 go ah3ad with th3 mission. Hav3 all ships r3ady to land!”

***

Three hours worth of time were spent for the next phase of the operation. One spent restoring the fleet’s power reserves to full power, another to prep all soldiers for landing and to land the ships.  The last was spent clearing the immediate areas of any enemy sentries or defenders as well wiping the land clean of any obstructions that might hamper the landing limbs.

Vikker’s platoon was luckily except from landing duties and thus spent most of the hours gathering their supplies or training.

When their ship was finally ready to land, he gathered his personal gear and head out. 

Vikker and the rest of his platoon waited by the launch ramp. Strafing them were various other platoons waiting as well as technicians and laborers moving gear and supplies near the entrance. Vikker obsessively went over his equipment, checking again and again to ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Before he could finish his third personal inventory check, the massive entrance ramp hissed loudly, small beams of dimmed sunlight breaking through as it lowered.

“Damnit. Fuckin sunlight.” Vikker muttered under his breath, shielding his eyes as they adjusted.

A cool breeze blew through the cramped hall, filling it with the musty smell of the world’s natural scent. It smelled of a mixture of fresh cut grass mixed with the ozone of the aftermath of a rainstorm.

As Vikker and the rest of the personnel marched outward, he looked to the sky. The sun was near the horizon, coloring the sky a golden orange mixed mostly with shades of deep purples and dull blues. Overcast clouds peppered the sky, most of them quickly breezing past. Wind currents brushed past them.

Vikker walked down the ramp. Looking for any sign of the personal banner of his platoon so as to make camp. After only a solitary minute he picked it out amongst the sea of clashing flags and other markers.

Making his way, Vikker was aghast to find their HQ in disarray. The calcified support struts for the command structure had yet to be grown, their supply pods were randomly strewn about, and his comrades were running frantically about trying to establish order to ill effect.

_“Weeellll. Seems our most competent commander’s leadership skills dim as dark as ever.”_ He thought to himself, sighing in annoyance.

One rust blood officer looked at Vikker and came frantically rushing towards him.

“Y0u there!” He yelled. “Please tell me y0u’ve seen Plat00n leader Kulick! N0ne 0f the seni0r 0fficers are ar0und and 0ur Plat00n’s invent0ry rep0rt wasn’t sent t0 the arm0ry. Als0, invent0ry wasn’t taken either.”

Vikker shook his head, “Sorry, can’t say that I ha\/e.”

The officer looked around frantically, then ran off, muttering manically to himself.

Vikker looked around; other platoon’s had already finished basic construction, as well arraigning their respective supplies and other essentials. Most had begun on growing their own personal barracks or other lesser constructs.

 Slapping his head in frustration and embarrassment, Vikker groaned under his breath.

“ _Damnit, where the hell is that incompetent blowhard? Figures he’d forget to type up orders.”_ He thought to himself. 

As if to answer him, marching towards Vikker was Platoon Leader Cyclam “bootlick” Kulick, flanked by a gaggle of other senior officers of varying rank from an assortment of other platoons and units. He was a pudgy balding man, with a thick bushy pair of eyebrows and a double chin. Resting on the crest of his forehead were a pair of horns angled to the side and back.

Kulick was the sort of officer Vikker hated, a lazy man blessed with no talent or exceptional skills of note yet who was entrusted with authority he was so sorely unqualified for. A vain simpleton of a troll, the sort of officer that that eschewed responsibility while passing any work off to anyone lower than him. That lavished his superiors with honeyed words and empty praises, practically kissing their feet with near disgusting levels of sycophancy. He was a coward of a man, throwing scores of men and women into the meatgrinder while he remained as far from danger as possible. But most aggravating to Vikker was that Kulick was a firm supporter of the hemospectrum, rigidly enforcing it whenever he could and delighting in any and all advantages it offered him.

To Vikker, Kulick was a microcosm of every crooked and corrupt authority figure that permeated the Empire’s ranks. He hated the fat man intently, yet kept his simmering anger under control. Kulick disliked Vikker in turn and delighted in every chance to push his buttons, subtly threatening him with beatings or even execution if Vikker stepped out of line. A part of Vikker felt Kulick wasn’t serious in his threats; the man being typically too lazy to really bother with such things, yet he never risked confirming it, better to bear the insults and live then retaliate and die.

Kulick was laughing uproariously at some unknown joke, stopping a second to slap his knee. Vikker fought to keep back a sneer as Kulick made his way.

As he looked at his platoon, Kulick’s demeanor turned sour. 

“What in the hell is going on here? Why is our HQ not set up? Where are our supplies?” He said.

The same rust blood junior officer from before rushed to Kulick, a nervous look on his face.

“Sir, I ap0l0gize f0r the state 0f things, but 0ur plat00n’s supplies were never invent0ried plus n0ne 0f the relevant paperw0rk was sent 0ut t0 the pr0per channels.” He said timidly.

Kulick remained silent only briefly, surveying his domain for any flaw.

“This is a disgrace!” He snapped. “When I come to my Platoon’s HQ I damn well expect to see things in order.”

“But sir…” The rust blood said.

“What?”

“uh.. well Sir, y0u see. Uh, it’s y0ur resp0nsibility t0 fill 0ut the pr0per f0rms s0 that uh, l0gistics and c0mmand can get us the necessary supplies and equipment. Y0u nev.. never filled anything 0ut Sir.” The rust blood whimpered, looking as if he was ready to be struck. Vikker couldn’t help but sympathize with the poor sod.

Kulick looked incredulous. His face twisting in anger as if the soldier had personally insulted him. Onlookers from the rest of the platoon that had been staring began to return to their respective duties, hoping not to incur Kulick’s wraith.

“Are you telling me how to do my job?” He said coldly.

“N-n0 sir. 0f c0urse n0t. I just meant that n0 0ne else but y0u can fill 0ut the necessary f0rms. Is all. Sir.”

“Well…” Kulick said after a short pause, as if struggling to come up with a response. “You should know how to do it yourself! After all, what if we had been under attack? Or worse, what if my superiors saw this mess!? You should learn to become more self sufficient! More resourceful! I can’t have incompetents mucking up my platoon. If I can’t trust you to do this then we’re gonna have a problem.”

Kulick’s hand began to lower towards his pistol, resting upon it menacingly. The poor officer gulped, his eyes widening in terror. Kulick marched slowly towards him, a grim look on his face.  The rust blooded officer eyes began to dart from Kulick’s face to his pistol and he began to stutter a response.

“uh uh, shit. Uh  S-Sir! I’ll d0 it!” He blurted out.

“Do what?” kulick asked, stopping as he did.

“I-I-I’ll d0 all the relevant p-paperw0rk fr0m n0w 0n! In fact I shall get t0 w0rk immediately 0n 0ur supply situati0n as well!” He said.

Kulick turned his eyes upward and stroked his chin, mulling over the suggestion. Then as quickly as his anger had rose, it subsided.

“Very well peasant. This seems an appropriate course of action. You are forgiven for your failure. Now. Fuck off and get to work before I have you shot.” He said.

“0h thank y0u sir! I’ll get 0n it right away.” The rust blooded officer said, rushing off.

Kulick turned to look at Vikker, a malignant grin growing on his face. Vikker struggled not to recoil. Slowly kulick began to walk towards him.

_“SHIT. Fuck off you fat bastard. Shit shit shit. No fuck off, don’t come near me. Piss off. Please die. Death’s Handmaid kill me now you bitch. Kill me now.”_ He thought to himself.

“Ah PrivateFeeder!” Kulick said.

_“You have failed me again you unmerciful bitch you.”_ Vikker thought.

“Fieder Sir.” Vikker said.

“Whatever. Anyway Private, I was just thinking of you.”

“Oh? And what about, Sir? _I hope it’s not anything romantic. I’d rather shoot myself then submit to any quadrant shit with you, fecal copulater._ ” Vikker asked.

“You see Vikker, you might be a filthy rust blood, and a lowly little private, and a irritable pissy little turd. But if there’s one little trait about you I’ve come to admire-not very much, mind you- it’s your obedience, your discipline. You see, discipline is such an annoying problem in the Vanguard army. Well, it’s a problem in all lowbloods really. And you, well, you seem to know your rightful place. You know you’re a lowly peasant.” Kulick said.

“Thank you sir.” Vikker said.

“You see rustblood. There are three groups of people in our great empire. You have the highbloods. The Fuchias, Violets, Purples, Indigos and Ceruleans. These people, through there long lived wisdom and superior intellect, guide the political, military, spiritual, and cultural course of our great race’s empire. They set the standards for what is considered good and decent in all things and we must look up to them as an example to emulate, even though lowbloods such as you typically fail to. They make the laws that help establish a proper order for us trolls. Without them our people would be aimless wandering fools; never to amount to the great achievements we have under our most glorious Empress.” Kulick said.

_“What the fuck is this fatbody going on about?”_ Vikker thought.

“Next you have the middlebloods. The Teals, Jades, and the Olives –like me. These people help enforce the order the highbloods set as well as maintain its bureaucracy. It is the duty of midbloods-such as myself- to ensure that the massive lowly throngs of peasants are kept in line however that implies. Whether it be to enforce the law, enforce genetic purity, or enforce social norms, midbloods help to keep our empire’s order running smoothly.”

_“I bet you stood in front of a mirror and practiced this whole speech, didn’t you, you vainglorious ignoramus?”_

“And then lastly you have the menial lowbloods. Mustard bloods, Fudge bloods, and Rust bloods. These are the peasants, the laborers, those who perform all the inglorious yet ultimately necessary work that keeps the entire infrastructure of our empire running. Yet while they perform what is an important service they simply lack the knowledge, intellect, or superior genetics to act as leaders. More than that, they lack the proper discipline to run things properly. Why if we had lowbloods running things, our empire would collapse within days. Nay, hours even! Hell this very rebellion is proof of that. Give a rustblood even little power and they’ll make a mess of things. You understand me, right Vikker?” Kulick asked.

“Clearly, sir.” Vikker responded.

“Good. Anyway head to the supply depot and get me some stimulants. Oh and, a grub-tablet for inventory.”

“But I thought that officer was going to get it?” Vikker asked.

“Oh yeah…  Well you can do both then. Now get to it rustblood.” Kulick responded.

After a short pause, Vikker spoke. “Thank you sir.

 

Vikker made his way towards the supply depot, grumbling to himself. He had hoped to get started on arraigning his own personal quarters as well as dump his personal gear; yet as expected Kulick had dumped work upon him as always. He wanted so badly to punch the bastard. But as he neared the depot, his previous feelings of anger subsided.

The depot was a large square structure roughly twenty meters wide and thirty meters long that was less built and more grown. The “fabric” that formed its walls was a thin dark grey colored opaque organic membrane like substance wrapped tight around a hardened calcified bone like frame jammed into the ground that functioned at its support. At the top was an ovoid shaped mass of quietly clicking flesh that had spouted forth the structure underneath it.

Standing tall in front of the depot was a steel pole, at its top was a rattling red triangular banner defaced with a white bordered red trident; the personal banner of the Condesce and de facto flag of the Alternian Empire. Situated beneath the Imperial banner were other flags, each meant to convey the personal details of the depot such as which branch, fleet, division and other units it belonged to as well as its general purpose.

A few random personnel passed through the center flap that functioned as its entrance. Some from Vikker’s platoon, most from other branches. In the back were a few brown blood laborers that were moving various supplies off the beds of scurrying loaders and into the back of the structure.

Before he could enter, a lean woman with a short styled haircut and a pair of tall horns that curved back at their tip stopped him as she exited.

“Excuse me.” She asked. “I’m sorry to pester you, but I’m looking for the HQ of the twelfth platoon. Would you happen to know where it is?”

“It’s the one that’s a total mess, right about that way.”  Vikker responded, pointing towards its general direction.

“Ah, thank you sir. Outred!” She yelled inside the depot. “Found it! Do you have the provisions?”

“Yes ma’am!” A scruffy looking fellow said as he exited. He had short curved horns that bent backwards and short messy hair. His face was haggard looking and covered in black grease smears. Partially covering his head was a ragged mustard yellow bandana full of holes. Hanging off his back was a large backpack filled with practically every provision and gear a soldier could possibly expect to need.

“Thanks again hon. She said to Vikker, then turning to her follower she spoke.  “Let’s go Grimy.” And the pair was off.

As he entered, the first thing he searched for was a stimulant depository device. Failing to find one he walked towards a series of plastic folding tables resting side by side that served as a front desk. Behind them were various large supply pods draped in a green membranous tarp that functioned as an ad-hoc wall separating the front from the back, leaving only a small pathway in its center. Vikker looked for any receptionists or other people who might assist him but none were to be found. Curiously the room was empty.

Grumbling under his breath in frustration, Vikker looked for any grub-tablets or paper forms that might have helped him but the tables were as bare of anything as the front of the tent was of people.

“Oh for Handmaid’s sake, is there anything in this forsaken army that’ll actually fucking work in my fa\/or?” he muttered under his breath.

Vikker glanced then over the tables, looking to see if anyone was in the back.

“Hello? Is anyone who actually works here, uh, here?”

Answering him was a high pitched feminine sounding voice muddled by a most peculiar accent he’d never heard before.

“Oi! Jush a minute! Jush gettin sum pods all lowded up ‘ere.”

Vikker stood nonplussed, wondering if his ears had been playing tricks on him; he’d heard many a strange accents in his life, yet none so odd as this one.

Departing from the back of the tent was a large muscular troll women with a pair of short thin circular horns and a pair of pigtails resting off the side of her head. Placed firmly under her muscular arms were two large and heavy looking pods that made swooshing noises as she walked towards him. She had a round soft cute face, marked by various scars though the most distinguished feature was the beaming and friendly grin she had plastered on her.

“Now, let me jush put dese ‘ere supplies down fer a sec and I’ll ‘elp square away annie problems ya got roght away!” She said. As she stood up, Vikker was momentarily amazed at the girl’s height. Standing roughly seven and a half feet tall she towered over him.

“So mate. Wot can I, do fer ya?” She asked.

Vikker could do nothing more than mutter to himself, slightly off put by the girl’s sheer size.

“Peerhaps sum speakin’ lessons fer starters? Heh, looks like ya could use sum.” She said playfully, resting her elbow on the table and her chin on her arm as she smiled warmly.

Vikker shook himself out of his stupor, mentally chastising himself for his conduct.

“Shit, sorry about that. Don’t know what got in me. Uh… Oh yes! First I need a tablet for a platoon sized supply inventory. Oh and uh, a cup of stimulants, if you got any.” He said.

“Shure, got pleny of both! Jush in tha back, be back in a sec.” She said, bristling with enthusiasm.

_“Man if only everyone else in my platoon was this eager to help I might actually like this shithole job. Might.”_ Vikker thought.

The squeaking of pod cabinets being opened and closed and folders being flipped through as well as a pleasant humming could be heard. As he waited, Vikker could see the girl rush back and forth through the rows of pods and other equipment, muttering to herself.

“Sooo. Wots yer name, if ya ain’t mindin me asking?” The girl asked.

“Private \/ikker Fieder. Infantryman. Yours?” He responded.

“Speshalest Pomaka Tokrev. Woteva the ‘ell my supeerors need me fer.”

Shortly after, Pomaka returned to him, carrying a brown thin grub-tablet in one hand and a mug with a clicking larva in the other. Handing both to him, she rested her elbows on the table. Vikker rested the tablet on the table and pulled the larvae from the mug and bite its head off, squeezing the creature’s oozing organs into the mug.

“So Vikkar.” Pomaka said. “‘ow long you been in the 1917th fleet?”

Tilting his head to the side, Vikker sifted through his memory for a response, stirring the soupy mixture in the mug till its consistency was thin.

“Uhhh. Dang. Around, oh… Five sweeps I’d say. Been in it longer than any other, though I used to be another before it was merged with this. What about you Pomaka?” Vikker asked, resting the mug on the table and leaning on it.

“oh jush joined up actually!” She said. “My old fleet suffard sum ‘eavy losses in our last engagement so we got merged while in transit!”

“Well how about that? What platoon you in? I’m in the 12th.” Vikker asked.

“11th sadly.” Pomaka responded, shrugging as if disappointed at that fact.

“Well can’t say that you’re unlucky.” Vikker returned to her. “My platoon is a joke; our commander is a total buffoon.”

“Oh wait!” Pomaka interrupted. “Ya in “Bootlick” Kulick’s platoon?”

“Yes.” Vikker said, slightly taken back by her knowledge of Kulick. “Shit how do you know his name?”

“Let’s jush say his reputation **really** preceedes ‘im.” Pomaka responded, widening her eyes for emphasis.

Vikker’s own widened in horror. “Ahh shit.” He spat out. “That reminds me, I gotta return to deal with this crap. See ya when I see ya Pom. Nice to meet ya.” Vikker said, waving warmly at her as he left.

“Nice ta met ya Vik! See ya too!” She returned. As Pomaka went to return to her duties she couldn't help but hear a noise that sounded similar to someone hawking a wad of phlegm loose.


End file.
